


and i'll pretend that i don't love you too

by deadsea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, au i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:42:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadsea/pseuds/deadsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was a goddamn drama queen, that was all. Louis hadn't done a thing to deserve his cold shoulder, and he refused to believe otherwise. And that was certainly not because he was just as much of a stubborn little shit as Harry. Absolutely, positively not.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>(louis accidentally skips a date with harry, and now they're both overreacting)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i'll pretend that i don't love you too

**Author's Note:**

> so basically 'i don't love you too' by olly murs came on the playlist i was listening to and i was thinking of larry at the time (as i always am) and therefore, this fic was born

 

It wasn't his fault, really.

Well, okay, it was. It completely was and there were no valid excuses to be made. Except for the fact that Zayn had offered _him_ the joint, and he didn't realize how stoned he was because he was putting most of his focus into the English paper they were working on together. Louis' paper, that is. The one that Zayn was helping him with, so that maybe he would have a shot at a decent mark in the class. Honestly, he could pin it all down to school, because if it hadn't been for his homework, he would've made it back to Harry's flat like he promised, and they would've been curled up on his sofa at ten o'clock watching whatever cheesy rom com he'd designated for the celebration of their sixteen-month anniversary, or something like that (neither of them were really sure because it was actually just an excuse to stay up late and eat takeaway and make out with each other on the couch whilst a movie played in the background).

Anyway, it wasn't Louis' fault that he got extra sleepy when he was high, and it wasn't his fault that writing an English paper was super boring, Zayn or no Zayn to accompany him. And it definitely wasn't his fault that he'd passed out around nine o'clock at Zayn's and accidentally blown off his night with Harry.

At least that's what Louis told himself on his way to Harry's the next morning. He'd woken up at nine, clocking out of a full twelve hours of sleep, with his head hanging painfully off an armrest on Zayn's couch. He had just been reaching up in a futile attempt to rub the crick out of his neck when he froze, remembering the promise he'd made to Harry a week ago. And then he was out the door, his English paper and Zayn and everything else forgotten because _fuck_ , how could he have allowed himself to fall asleep when his boy was waiting on the couch back at his flat to watch a movie with him. He tried not to picture Harry fidgeting anxiously on the scratchy cushions of his sofa at 10:30 when he hadn't shown up on time, and then slumping over sadly when the clock finally turned to midnight, and he realized that Louis wasn't coming. And he tried, desperately tried, not to imagine a sad, heartbroken Harry who thought that maybe Louis didn't care about him quite as much as he let on, because what kind of boyfriend would skip out on a cosy movie date to work on an English paper with one of his mates? Especially a date that they - or Harry, mainly - had planned a week in advance.

_Shit, shit, shit_ , Louis thought, fumbling Harry's flat key from his back pocket as he approached the door.

He pushed the door open lightly with the pads of his fingertips, peeking inside to see that the TV was on, and Harry was sat comfortably on the sofa in a pair of Louis' sweatpants - the grey ones - that stretched to just above his ankle and then cut off abruptly, and a loose white t-shirt. Louis sighed, hoping that the sweatpants meant that maybe he was already partly forgiven. And he sure as hell hoped so, because he couldn't resist Harry in general, but he especially couldn't resist Harry wearing his clothes, even if they were a bit small on him.

"Harry?" His voice rang out in the quiet flat, hesitant and apologetic, as he stepped through the entryway, stepping on the heels of his Vans to remove them.

The back of the sofa was facing Louis, but Harry hadn't turned to acknowledge him yet. Louis fought the urge to groan when he didn't turn around, even after he spoke his name two more times.

After rocking uneasily on his heels a few times, he made his way to the sofa and positioned himself opposite Harry, who kept his eyes expertly trained on the TV.

"Harry." Still no answer. Only a stubborn, sullen Harry staring blankly ahead whilst deliberately ignoring him. "I'm going to bug you until you at least acknowledge my presence," he finally deadpanned, his eyes not leaving Harry's.

"What," Harry muttered in a strict monotone after a few beats of silence, although Louis' gaze remained unrequited.

"I'm so sorry, love," Louis sighed, letting his head droop until it was resting on the cushion. "I am honestly, genuinely, very sorry about missing last night. I was smoking with Zayn, and I accidentally fell asleep. I really, really wish I hadn't because I was looking forward to our date, promise. Now will you please at least speak to me? You're driving me crazy." And he really, really was. Harry _always_ drove Louis crazy, whether he knew he was doing it or not, but right now it was especially bad because his features were all soft and blurred with sleep, and his curly hair was tousled and one of his cheeks was flushed red from being shoved against his pillow all night whilst he slept, like it always was in the morning. And Louis was going to go absolutely mad because he really, really wanted to kiss him, yet Harry wouldn't even acknowledge his presence.

Louis worried on his bottom lip, inwardly begging Harry to respond - for him to turn and face Louis and tell him it was alright, and then put on his little smirk, which would turn into a broad grin until his dimples were on full display, and kiss him good morning.

But that didn't happen, and Harry's head didn't turn, and his lips didn't quirk into a smile, and his tone of voice didn't change a bit when he said "You know, smoking's bad for you."

This time, Louis groaned outwardly, burying his face in his hands. Why had he gotten himself into this?

"I'm sorryyyyyyyyy, I'm so sorry, Harry. I can make it up to you right now," he whined, springing up off the couch and heading to the DVD player.

"There's already one in," Harry said, his voice flat.

Instead, Louis picked the remote up off the ground and switched into the mode that played DVDs. The credits were rolling across the screen.

"Oh no," he fretted, wringing his hands anxiously. "You watched it without me?" He threw the question at Harry desperately, not really expecting a reply because the answer was obvious. He hesitated before asking, "....Was it sad? Or really happy? Did you cry?" He couldn't imagine Harry curled up on the couch and wrapped in a blanket, sniffling quietly over some romantic film without Louis there to tease him relentlessly and kiss the tears off his cheeks.

Harry only shrugged, and Louis tangled his fingers in his hair in frustration. He could scream, he was so frustrated - with both Harry and himself.

Honestly, couldn't Harry just scream at him for a few minutes and get it all out of his system like a normal fucking person? This silent treatment - this annoying _indifference_ was driving him crazy. But then again, it had been Louis who'd messed up, so maybe he deserved this... But only a little bit.

"Harry," he whimpered, putting on his best _I'm-so-sorry-and-I-love-you_ voice. He threw himself back onto the sofa, this time his body curling into Harry's automatically. He wished Harry would turn and look at him, and wrap his arms around him and let him cuddle up against his chest like they would normally be doing at this time.

Instead, Harry faced him only to give him an annoyed glare before pushing himself off the couch and heading into the kitchen.

"What do you want me to do?" Louis cried after him. "I'll do anything." Harry didn't answer, of course. Louis silently sulked, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing his face into a pout. He could hear the clanging of pots and pans of some sort in the kitchen, and realized that he could really go for some breakfast. He opened his mouth to ask Harry to make him something, and then he shut it, frowning. Instead, he shuffled to the cupboard and snagged himself a granola bar before grabbing his coat and wallet and heading out the door, stuffing his feet back into his Vans on the way out.

The winter air was chilly and uninviting, and Louis shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him. He didn't really know exactly what he was doing, but he figured the fresh air would allow him to think more clearly, rather than the stuffy, tense environment in Harry's flat.

Louis walked until he was surrounding by shops and diners, smirking widely when his eyes fell upon a flower shop. Harry was a sucker for flowers, he knew. Perhaps a bouquet would do just the trick in order to make up for his little slip-up last night.

Honestly, you'd think Louis would be able to pick out some specific types of flowers by now, considering how many times he'd bought them for Harry. But, as usual when it came to cheesy, romantic shit like this, he was completely hopeless. Figuring the type of flowers wouldn't matter much anyway, Louis picked and chose randomly, creating a gorgeous bouquet, all sorts of flowers and colors arranged in a coordinating bunch. Once finished, he grinned and sighed proudly at his masterpiece. Maybe he was a shit boyfriend, but he was excellent at making up for it, if he did say so himself.

Louis hurried back to Harry's flat after paying for the flowers. He believed the flowers gave him a genuine shot at being forgiven, and he really just wanted Harry to _forgive_ him already.

It wasn't long before he found himself unlocking that door for the second time that day, and removing his shoes again and stepping inside and closing the door behind him _again_. Harry was still in the kitchen area, this time busying himself by scraping a pan clean over the sink.

"Afternoon, Harry," Louis chirped, trapping the flowers behind his back, although it did little to hide the fact that he was indeed holding a large bouquet of colorful flowers.

He waited until the boy turned around, eyebrows raised expectantly, before yanking out the bouquet and extending them forward.

"I brought you something," he grinned, trying not to look too smug.

Harry stared for a minute, his eyes examining the flowers. "You're a bit late," he drawled, the words tumbling slowly out of his mouth like honey dripping from a jar. "Our date was last night."

Louis' face fell immediately at his words, his expression hardening. He wanted to walk straight up to Harry, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him hard whilst yelling ' _I'm fucking trying, alright?!_ ' in his ear.

Louis dropped the flowers (albeit, carefully) on the ground in front of him, his mouth stretched into a tight line. "Sorry," he managed, before sulking into the opposite room and dropping onto Harry's bed.

Harry was a goddamn drama queen, that was all. Louis hadn't done a thing to deserve his cold shoulder, and he refused to believe otherwise. And that was certainly not because he was just as much of a stubborn little shit as Harry. Absolutely, positively not.

So, Louis spent the next hour or so sprawled on Harry's bed, clouding his brain with internal complaints on the difficulty of Harry Styles. At one point he became weak, and began brainstorming ideas on what he could do to earn his forgiveness. But he quickly shook the thoughts from his mind, taking an imaginary pen and scribbling all over the mental list in his head. And then he internally ripped it to shreds.

But since Louis is Louis, and Louis can't stand being alone for more than a few hours at a time (loneliness was perhaps his greatest fear), he began to feel extremely restless and bored. And, of course, lonely. He was so lonely, and Harry was only a room away from him. Just a few measly steps, and Louis would be in the presence of another human being (his _favourite_ human being actually, but he was most certainly not going to admit that at a time like this). So, he stole a pair of headphones from Harry's bedside table, jammed them into his phone, and turned up the volume before ambling nonchalantly into the other room. Harry was planted in front of the TV, eyes glued to his phone. Louis watched his face intently as he entered the room. His features seemed to twitch a little bit at his entrance, as though he was struggling to keep his gaze from leaving the tiny screen in front of him. Louis curled into a chair that was next to the sofa, but not close enough that it was difficult to avoid eye contact with the boy seated on it.

_Ha_ , Louis thought. _Two can play at this game_.

If Harry wanted to continue this childish behaviour, then so be it. If there was anything Louis was particularly exceptional at, it was acting like a child. And if that meant giving the silent treatment to the only other person inhabiting the same tiny flat as him for twelve hours straight, then Louis was up for it.

So, he positioned himself there quietly, trying not to think about just how lovely Harry was with his head tilted toward his phone in deep concentration, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He tried not to think about how they could be spending this free time right now if he had only turned up at ten o'clock last night instead of passing out at Zayn's...

And he tried not to think about how much he fucking missed his boy, though they were sat mere metres away from each other.

Louis thought that maybe this was worse than loneliness.

And then he mentally slapped himself, because he was supposed to be angry at Harry, not pining over him from a distance.

Instead, he tried to focus on other things, such as how fucking _hungry_ he was. The shitty 100-calorie granola bar he'd eaten earlier for breakfast had done very little to satisfy him, and now he was starving again. If only the boy who's flat he was currently occupying would speak to him...

He chewed his lip, letting his eyes flit upward to land on Harry. It startled him to see that the boy was already staring back, lips parted as though he had something to say. Louis yanked out his earbuds, watching him expectantly.

"I - er, I've got some lasagna I'm gonna heat up for lunch. Thought I would tell you just in case you want some. Or whatever." Harry's words were still icy cold.

Louis crossed his arms, staring him down. "I'm not hungry," he replied frankly, trying not to let his growling stomach persuade him otherwise.

Harry snorted, even adding in an eye roll for extra dramatics as he pushed himself off the couch and padded lazily toward the fridge.

"Actually," Louis announced, waiting for Harry to turn back around to continue, "I'm just gonna order myself takeaway." Harry shrugged apathetically before yanking open the fridge. Louis huffed, dialing up the nearest Italian place on his phone and pressing it to his ear. After rattling off his order, he hung up and watched Harry angrily from across the room. This stupid fight was really putting him in an awful mood. Plus, he'd really wanted some of that lasagna, which, painfully enough, he could already smell re-heating in the oven. From then on, he tried to only breathe from his mouth.

This was bordering on really fucking pathetic. The both of them were just so, so pathetic. But Louis had _tried_. He'd apologized. He'd brought flowers. It had only been one slip-up, and now he was stuck being _lonely_ all day, and watching Harry eat some really cheesy, delicious-looking lasagna from across the room, and _shit_ , he was spectacularly hungry.

"You know, I really fucking hate you sometimes," Louis sighed before he could stop himself. He figured that if Harry wouldn't speak to him in any sort of civilized manner, an argument would be better than complete silence. Anything was better than silence, in Louis' opinion.

"Touché," Harry quipped, not even looking up from his lasagna.

"Like when you ignore me relentlessly when I'm only trying to apologize," he quickly replied, trying a bit more desperately than he would've liked to admit to catch his attention.

Harry snorted. "Really? Because it doesn't seem like you're trying all that hard at the moment."

Louis frowned. "I brought you flowers."

"Yeah. And now you're picking fights with me."

Louis groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, alright? I really am sorry." He was afraid to lift his head, afraid that when his eyes met Harry's they would still be cold and unforgiving, everything that the usually charming, bubbly, dimpled boy wasn't. Harry didn't respond, and when Louis looked up again, he had his back against the side of the sofa, his mile-long legs stretched out in front of him. Much to Louis' chagrin, his attention was back on his lunch. He figured that it wasn't worth pushing any further. They were both in terrible moods, and a pointless fight would only blow up in their faces.

After his Italian takeaway arrived, Louis finished it and dragged himself back into Harry's room, collapsing on top of the mattress. Having nothing else to do, he fell asleep, the comforter still pulled taut to each corner. He'd much rather sleep than address the impossible situation with Harry, anyway.

He woke up nearly two hours later, and Harry was gone. He was genuinely worried at first. He'd searched the entire flat (not that there was much to search), and Harry hadn't even left a hint as to where he was off to. Louis had spent about ten minutes pacing wildly before he finally unlocked his phone and sent a text to him.

_where r u?_

Harry texted back seven minutes later, and Louis nearly dropped his phone in the midst of yanking it from his pocket after he heard the buzz.

_2 o'clock class_

Louis nearly threw his phone at the wall, because he was stupid, stupid, stupid. Obviously Harry was in class. He knew he had class at 2. Honestly, what did he think Harry had been up to? Hitting up some new guy at a bar on a Wednesday afternoon? In his defense, he was beginning to lose track of what day of the week it was.

Louis replied ten minutes later, after contemplating heavily over whether or not he should send the message.

_right. can we talk for real when u get back?_

Harry's response lit up on his phone only three minutes later.

_yeah ok_

Louis rubbed at his temples, staring at his screen for a good five minutes before typing out another message. He couldn't tell if Harry was being sarcastic or not.

_i'm serious harry, we nee _e_ ed to talk_

Harry's replies were coming in more quickly.

_we? i didnt do anything_

_you know what I mean._

_okay okay_

_is your class almost out??_

_yup_

Neither of them said anything until around three.

_on my way back_

Louis sighed, wringing his hands. He wished he'd prepared himself for what he was going to say. He had no idea how to prepare his argument. Or apology. Or whatever the hell was needed to get Harry to speak to him properly. He was still pacing like mad when he heard a key being inserted into the lock, and then Harry was shuffling through the door, peacoat pulled tightly around him. When he saw Louis waiting by the door only a couple metres away, his green eyes widened like a deer in headlights. Louis wished they weren't so close. Harry's cheeks were flushed from the cold, and he looked so nice all bundled up in his coat and scarf. His curls were tousled, and damp from the snow. If it hadn't been for the incident this morning, Louis would have closed the distance between them in an instant, kissing him warm.

They both stood there for a moment, eyes locked tightly on each other. For the first time today, there wasn't contempt in either of their gazes, and they slowly drank each other in, forgetting momentarily about the fact that they were supposed to be fighting. But that was stupid. Why should they be fighting, when there was no reason to be? Suddenly, Louis felt very determined to end this. And maybe, he hoped, Harry did too.

Harry was the first to drop his gaze. "Hey," he muttered, turning to remove his coat and hang it on the rack. _Or not_.

At that point, Louis felt about ready to burst. "Don't you get that I didn't mean to skip our date last night?" he blurted, gesturing wildly with his arms. "I just-"

Harry was quick on his feet, spinning around and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, glaring at Louis whilst cutting him off mid-sentence. "Yeah, yeah, you were studying, something really important, whatever. You got high and then fell asleep. That's nice. It's also got nothing to do with you _skipping our date_."

He was sure his features were all scrunched up in confusion at that moment, because honestly, what was this boy on about? "What are you on about? It's got everything to do with me skipping our date."

Harry made a little noise of frustration, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows. Louis frowned at that, because it always meant that Harry was thinking too much. "No it hasn't, Lou. The fact that you _forgot_ has everything to do with you skipping. The fact that you weren't worried enough, or you didn't care enough about it. About me. I don't know..." he trailed off, his gaze lowering.

"Harry." Louis' voice sounded strangled. Did he honestly think that Louis didn't care enough about him to show up for one of their dates? Was that really what had been running through his mind all day? Just the thought of Harry beating himself up over one of his stupid mistakes tortured him on the inside.

Harry's eyes were cast downward, his head tilted slightly toward the floor as well. Although he had quite a few inches on Louis, in this moment, he seemed tiny. His bottom lip was clenched between his teeth, and Louis wanted to walk right up to him and smoothe it back into place. So he did, gently. Harry blinked, his eyes meeting Louis'. They were so green and wide and glassy, and he looked sort of like a little kid.

They were only centimetres apart now, and Louis gently reached up to brush his thumbs over Harry's cheeks. "Do you actually believe that bullshit, Harry?" he murmured.

"Hm?" Harry hummed in response, his eyes trained on the smaller boy's lips, like they always were when he was speaking to him.

Louis rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly. "I'm addressing what you've just said. Some shit about me not caring for you. Because it's not true. Jesus, love, how'd you ever get that idea into your pretty little head?"

And now Harry was smiling a little bit too, dimples caving in on his cheeks. Louis ran his thumbs over the tiny dips, grinning as he did. "Haven't seen these all day. Missed them quite a bit, actually."

Harry gave a low, raspy chuckle that made Louis' eyes light up. "Anyway, Harry - I was being genuine when I said that I didn't mean to skip our date. I didn't forget about it, I just," he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find the proper wording. As per usual, he couldn't seem to, and decided to just fuck it. "I fucked up. There's not really another way to put it. I fucked up, and I totally regret it. But if you're up for it, I can order us some more takeaway later tonight, and we can curl up on the couch and watch any shitty rom com of your choice."

Harry's grin was on full force by now. "Heyyy," he whined, grabbing Louis by his waist and pulling him into his chest. "My movie choices aren't shitty."

Louis snorted. "Whatever you say, love. Now tell me, was that a yes or a no to our date ton-" Harry cut him off, his lips colliding with Louis', who made a tiny sound of contentment before kissing him back with urgency.

Harry tasted like mint gum, the kind he always chewed during classes because it supposedly "keeps you focused." The kiss wasn't long, and it wasn't perfect, but it was their way of making a promise - of reassuring each other that there would be plenty of dates in the future, and maybe (probably) there would be more fuck-ups, but it didn't matter, because why should it? Menial mistakes weren't going to add up in the long run - and they were both willing to stick this out.

Harry's cheeks were pink when he pulled away, lips stretched into a stupidly wide grin. "'M sorry about this morning," he breathed. "I shouldn't have ignored you for so long."

"Mm. No, you should'nt've. You're stubborn, you know that?" He stood on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck in order to press their foreheads together.

Harry smirked, tightening his grip on Louis' waist to keep him from tumbling forward.

Louis kissed his forehead, and his nose, and each of his stupid dimpled cheeks. "Does this mean I'm forgiven, then?"

He was answered by Harry's mouth meeting his own, and he melted into his favourite boy's chest, losing himself amidst his pretty red lips.


End file.
